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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26452555">i'm sick of singing about me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserybug/pseuds/miserybug'>miserybug</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>why do you write like you're running out of time? [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), SMP live, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Dimension Travel, Dream SMP War, Existential Crisis, Existentialism, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Humor, Minecraft, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Drugs, Tags May Change, Unreliable Narrator, War, but like in minecraft so, l'manberg, listen i dont know whats happening here either okay, that's a lie actually i do know :), will add character tags as i update as well :D</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:41:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,723</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26452555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserybug/pseuds/miserybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilbur Soot's been running for over 200 days. He thinks he'd like to stop any day now.</p><p>So he stops. That comes with consequences.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>why do you write like you're running out of time? [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>288</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Dream SMP Connected Storylines</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. i am mostly scared by passing time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>His legs are getting tired. </p><p>"Maybe I should just pack up and run away again<br/>Let you forget that you were once my friend<br/>Then watch another go on and do better without me."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night Dream declares war, Wil- no, that’s not quite right. </p><p>He should start earlier than that.</p><p>SMP Live crumbles under the weight of… shit, no, now he’s gone too far back. </p><p>He tears another page from his mental book and continues to sprint.</p><p>Wilbur is running from a storm. He doesn’t know what day it is, and he certainly doesn’t know how long he’s been running for. The rain follows him, haunts him like the ghosts and skeletons he keeps in his closet, and the booming sound of thunder fills his every waking hour. </p><p>He wants to stop running. He wants to sleep more than 30 minutes at a time, wants to speak to people more than once before leaving them behind, wants to settle down and make a home and rest. How far he’s fallen, from the bright eyed petty thief and scam artist, to whatever this fucking shell of himself is. He understands now, why people grow jaded and cold and shatter like glass with age and experience. Every story must come to an end, every chapter has its conclusion. He used to dread those endings, regret not doing more or saying more or being more. </p><p>He can’t wait for this next ending. He’s so tired of running.</p><p>His surroundings blur and shift, as they typically do when hopping from world to world to server to server. Isolated bubbles of temporary peace and human contact that Wilbur will eventually end up destroying through his own selfishness. The empty darkness he’s been running through vanishes, along with the storm clouds. The sky is clear, and the trees stand strong and tall. He’s safe, for now. He lets out a sigh of relief and a wheeze as he bends over to catch his breath. </p><p>“...Wilbur?” A voice asks, vaguely familiar. He whips around, making himself dizzy from the sudden movement. The world tilts on its axis and he stumbles in a weak attempt to stay upright.   </p><p>The fact that the voice recognizes him is almost enough to get him to run again. Something keeps him there though. He’s self-absorbed enough to pretend the  something is fate, or anything that holds any significance. Anything other than the painful reality of the fatigue that weighs his limbs down, and the desperation that begs him to be selfish and endanger another person out of the need to be known.</p><p>He raises his hands on instinct to protect himself. “Who’s there?” His surroundings blur, even as he stabilizes. He stumbles and sits down, feeling weak. When was the last time he had slept? He wasn’t sure.</p><p>“Wilbur!” The same voice cries again, louder. It sounds worried, which is silly, because no one knows Wilbur well enough to be worried about him besides the people who know Wil well enough to hate him.</p><p>Wilbur shivers. He’s so cold. It’s the coldest he’s been in a very long time, and he’s been very, very cold before. He can see his own breath. He marvels at it, watches the mist come from his mouth before his vision starts to darken.</p><p>There’s someone next to him now, and Wilbur can vaguely make out human-like shapes before he passes out from sheer exhaustion.</p><p>-</p><p>The day starts out normal enough for Tommy. </p><p>Tommy’s pretty new to Dream’s SMP, but he’s pretty sure it’s not normal for random people to pop into spawn looking like they just fought God and lost. The man that appears is tall and gangly, his torn black blazer worn over a dirty white t-shirt. It’s familiar, somehow. Like he should know the outfit, the curly brown hair, the far posher british accent mocking him ‘cause of his Business Brid- </p><p>Oh fuck. He sprints towards the spawn area, shouting. </p><p>“Wilbur...?!” he cries, and the older man whips around, disoriented. He stumbles as he turns and mutters something Tommy can’t hear. He watches Wilbur catch himself as he falls and Tommy speeds up, crying out again. “Wilbur!” the other man doesn’t respond this time, despite his proximity. The sun is shining in the clearing, and Tommy sweats from the unforgiving heat the rays of sunlight bring. Wilbur seems to pause. Tommy hopes that means he’s heard him. </p><p>It’s only as Tommy reaches his side does he realize that Wilbur Soot has passed out. His sleeping form lays peacefully in the spawn area of Dream SMP, only a month or so after he vanished from the MCC event. Only a month or so after he left everyone he loved behind.</p><p>-</p><p>The strangest part is that Wilbur wakes up in a bed. He hasn’t used one of those in a while, so he relishes the feeling of the mattress beneath him, keeping his eyes closed. There are voices muttering in the distance. He freezes in place, remembering the reason he hasn’t used a bed in weeks. It wasn’t a voluntary decision, wasn’t some sort of Gandhi-inspired play, giving up his wealth to relate with the masses. He’d been alone the whole time- no one around to appeal to. So why were there people in the room with him? He strains slightly to hear what they were saying. </p><p>“No, no!” A childish voice cries, seemingly upset. “You can’t just ban him, Dream! Have some sympathy, big man.”</p><p>Another voice, presumably Dream, laughs in disbelief. “You’re one to preach about empathy, Tommy. I mean…” Wilbur freezes, and he doesn’t hear the rest of the statement.</p><p>Surely not… that Tommy. Without meaning to, he groans. The two across the room stop talking abruptly. He hears footsteps sprint across the room.</p><p>“Wilbur? Holy shit, big man, are you-” Wilbur tunes him out as he takes in the red and white shirt, the blonde hair and the braces. He turns around and shoves the pillow over his head.</p><p>He thinks he’d much rather go back to running for his life now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>title from It's OK, I Wouldn't Remember Me Either - crywank</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. the apathy of realness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There's a calm before every storm.</p><p>"The majesty of fantasy protects me from tragedy<br/>Normalities effect traject agony of rationality, which thankfully penetrates with no avail to my unreality<br/>An elaborately designed, privately owned spiral galaxy"</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy tugs at his jacket repeatedly, dragging him from landmark to landmark. Wilbur stumbles along behind him begrudgingly, taking in the still developing server with wide eyes. The wooden path they walk on creaks below him as he sidesteps another creeper hole. Those seem to be more and more common the closer they get to where Tommy claims his house is but Wilbur keeps his mouth shut. </p><p>The kid gestures at a hole in the side of a hill, covered in dirt. There’s a sign stuck into the wall, and the stone flooring is cracked and placed haphazardly, like it’s been rebuilt over and over again and finally Tommy gave up trying to fix it. Still, he beams with pride when showing his house off, ushering Wilbur away from the crafting table and towards a back room kept in a much more pristine condition. In it sits a bench and a jukebox.</p><p>“That’s it for the tour, I showed you everything important on the server. Well-” Tommy pauses, pretending to think. “There’s Tubbo’s house, but I mean… it’s Tubbo. He’s very clingy, you know. Always following me and talking to me and telling me things. Very annoying- say, would you rather listen to Cat or Mellohi?” </p><p>Wilbur snorts a little. The Tubbo kid sounds more like a description of Tommy than anyone else if he remembers SMP Earth right. “I like Chirp,” he offers. </p><p>Tommy scoffs in affront. “Did you not hear me, big man? I said Cat or Mellohi. C’mon, I’m offering you the best of the best- if Dream found out he’d be over here to kill me for these this instant!” The more Wilbur hears about this Dream guy, the more he thinks he doesn’t want to get to know him. </p><p>“...Please don’t call me big man, Tommy.” He sighs, acting like it’s a personal grievance and not another awful parallel on his list of Tommy and Schlatt similarities. “Mellohi is fine, then.” </p><p>Tommy tilts his head, examining him with a painfully serious expression for a split second. It’s unnerving, the real him. The kid hides behind bits and brashness so often that Wilbur forgets just how perceptive he is. He looks like he’s about to say something before a knock at the door makes him jump. He hops back into character and sighs. A brown haired boy walks in and Tommy groans louder. </p><p>“Speaking of Tubbo…” Tommy rolls his eyes and stands to close the door behind the shorter boy. Wilbur waves in greeting, and the newcomer grins, tossing his diamond helmet onto the floor next to the bench. Tommy puts in the disc, and a slow waltzing tune starts to play. </p><p>“Hello! You’re Wilbur, right?” The boy shoots him a toothy grin and a jaunty wave. Wilbur can’t help but shoot a small smile back. </p><p>“Uh, yeah- and you’re… Tubbo, right?” He assumes, and judging by how the boy glances at Tommy, who rolls his eyes yet again in response, he’s right. “A pleasure to meet you.”</p><p>Tubbo laughs, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you too, dude!” Wilbur stares at his outstretched hand for far longer than necessary without moving. Something like disappointment flashes on the newcomer’s face before he’s back to smiling again. </p><p>“Well, um. That’s fine. I just wanted to hop in and ask if Tommy wanted to help with villagers right now? Sapnap and I are-” </p><p>Tommy lets out a louder groan than before, cutting Tubbo off abruptly. “Oh great, a room with Tubbo and Sapnap, just what I need right now. Are you not even going to talk to Wilbur? I’m kind of busy here, Tubbo.” Wilbur watches the back and forth with fascination. Tubbo seems entirely unphased, and smiles sheepishly. </p><p>“I just thought that’d be a little silly, you know. I feel like I already know him, considering how much you talk abo-” He’s cut off again, this time a bit more frantically.</p><p>“Okay, Tubbo, that’s enough.” Tommy laughs awkwardly, shoving the other boy out the door. “Wow, uh. That guy, am I right? He’s crazy, you know- incredibly clingy too, have I mentioned?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah, you have. Say- you two don’t… seem to like each other very much, do you?” Wilbur decides to ignore the fact that Tommy talks about him, if only to spare the flushing young boy a bit of embarrassment. </p><p>Tommy looks at him, confused. “What? No, no. We’re the bestest of friends, him and I. I tell him what to do and he does it- it’s very simple, really.”</p><p>Wilbur pauses at that. “Oh.” He remembers a similar pair- stacks of diamonds burnt in lava and then enthusiastic cooperation, two scam artists turned businessmen turned… well. He’s not so sure about that part. “You know, friends are usually nicer to each other. You should apologize, Tommy.” </p><p>Tommy looks at him in disbelief. “No, no, we have a very special relationship, big m-” he pauses, and swallows. “Big W? Big dubs? Boss man? Wilbur, can I call you- okay, anyways. We have a very special bond. Trust, trust.” </p><p>He takes a second to comprehend that mess of a sentence into something with meaning. He smiles at the kid’s attempt. The thought was there at least. “No, I think you should call him right now, actually. Go on- tell him you’re sorry, Tommy Innit.” He snorts slightly, watching the younger boy’s face shift from upset to resigned as he contemplates the uselessness of getting into an argument with Wilbur so soon. The boy scoffs but doesn’t speak as he whips out a communications device, typing out an apology with joking anger. He hits send and a beep comes from his backpack. Tommy turns and looks at it, surprised. </p><p>“Oh, shit! That’s right- here.” He digs through his own backpack, pulling out a few bones and some packaged food before grabbing an identical communicator from the bag. “For you.” The disc ends, and pops back out from the jukebox. Tommy whips around and grabs it with one hand, the other still outstretched to offer Wilbur the device. He sighs in relief, as if something was about to come snatch it from thin air. Wilbur takes the communicator.</p><p>Right on cue, Dream barges in, sword in hand. It glows with the same magical light his black armor does, and Tommy curses and deftly ducks under it as he lunges for his ender chest, barely reaching it as the sword stabs the ground next to him. Wilbur yelps and falls from his seat.</p><p>“What the fuck?!” He screams, rolling to narrowly dodge a wild swing from Dream as Tommy slams the ender chest closed with a sigh of relief. Dream lets out a sigh of discontent and then storms off, Tommy chasing him through the door. </p><p>“And stay gone, you bastard!” He shouts, and Dream flips him off before disappearing down the hillside. Tommy turns back to Wilbur. “Sorry you had to see that- the discs are kind of like… my most prized possessions.” He says it like there’s backstory behind it all, and Wilbur prepares for another expository rant. Instead, Tommy continues on in silence, patting the top of the ender chest to make sure it’s secure.</p><p>Wilbur stands and dusts his torn jacket off, wiping bits of stone from where they caught on the tears. He really needs new clothes, huh. “What’s his issue? Holy shit, you have to deal with that?” Tommy nods, and even Wilbur can tell how tired he looks.</p><p>“I think it started as a bit, but… he really doesn’t like to lose. You outsmart a man who thinks he’s about to make another 1,000 IQ moment compilation one time, and then suddenly you’re hiding everything you own from him. He… I don’t think he’s a bad guy, y’know? Just stubborn.” Wilbur laughs, but he continues to stare in the direction the masked man just left. </p><p>“Stubborn, annoyingly persistent, and can’t admit when he loses? Sounds like someone else I know.” Tommy scoffs at the statement, crossing his arms.</p><p>“Yeah, but Dream is actually good at things!” He whines, and then realizes what he’s said. “I mean- not that I’m not good at things. I’m the best at things, actually. I’m very good at, uh…” The kid sighs, giving up on his statement, and Wilbur ruffles the kid’s hair on instinct. </p><p>Wilbur freezes “Erm. Sorry. Uh… ignore that.” Tommy shoves his hand off of his head, and looks at Wilbur strangely. </p><p>“...Yeah, sure. It’s just… he’s so controlling, I only really want to hang out with Tubbo, you know? But he doesn’t ever stop.” Wilbur frowns, and turns to look at Tommy. The kid looks downtrodden, and despite everything in him that tells him he can’t stay, he sighs and begins to walk out of Tommy’s house, down towards the large hole on their left. Tommy trails behind like a lost puppy.</p><p>“That’s not quite fair then, is it?” Tommy nods hesitantly, and the cogs start turning in Wilbur’s head. He’s not often one to pass up an opportunity to piss off the government, and though he wants to leave, today isn’t any exception. “I say we stick it to him then, Tommy Innit.” He looks back and watches the boy’s expression change in real time, his shoulders straightening. Tommy speeds up slightly so he’s walking besides Wilbur.</p><p>The boy leans towards him, eagerly awaiting Wilbur’s next words. “What do you have in mind, boss man?” They cross under a strange archway, and Wilbur makes a mental note to scout the location for a temporary house while he and Tommy work on this dumbass plan he’s concocting. </p><p>“How do you feel about starting a drug front, Tommy Innit?” </p><p>Tommy pauses. “But… that’s illegal! Surely Dream would never-” Wilbur cuts his shout off.</p><p>“Exactly.” He stops to look at Tommy, and watches the wheels turn in the younger boy’s head. </p><p>“Oh….” he lets out a noise of understanding, and then his affronted expression shifts into one of glee. The kid smiles, and Wilbur matches his grin. </p><p>“Wilbur, I thought you’d never ask. Of course I’ll do drugs with you!” Uh oh. Wilbur shakes his head quickly.</p><p>“No, no, we’re not doing dr-” Tommy continues ahead, running towards a river downhill.</p><p>“We’re dirty crime boys now, Wilbur! You and me, against that bastard. Oh, I’m going to sell Sapnap so many drugs, I already know it. Look at us go, Wilbur!”</p><p>It was going to be a long couple of days ahead, but strangely, Wilbur realizes that he didn’t quite seem to mind. For once, he could pretend that everything was okay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>chapter two ! thank you so much for all the support on the first chapter :D </p><p>also! i lied- probably not all of the chapters will be named after crywank songs, only those in the main story line :) any interludes will b from other songs, because i like song titles lol</p><p>title from privately owned spiral galaxy - crywank</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. - there is very little left of me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's been 207 days since everything stopped.</p><p>"You say I'm changing<br/>Sorry I didn't know I had to stay the same<br/>Can we talk about this later?<br/>Your voice is driving me, driving me insane."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun is shining today. Go figure. The birds are chirping today. Again. The sky is perfectly clear today. No surprises there. The world stands still around him, just like it did the day before.</p><p>Connor walks through the empty city, fishing rod in hand. Every shop is stocked with the exact materials that they were the morning before last, and before that one, and before that one. Even his own shitty ice shop is still perfectly chilled in the balmy 78 degree weather. A breeze blows past. That must mean it's 11:38 am. It's Connor's 207th day alone in SMP Live, and it's exactly the same as the last. There's no one else around, and there's nothing else to do. </p><p>He’s not used to this. Well- he’s used to being alone. He prefers it sometimes, no eyes on him, no outside influence, no judgement. Just him and his surroundings. He’s not used to staying. Before everything, he’d been a traveller. He misses that, running and fighting, and changing settings the moment he got tired of the last. </p><p>When everything began to go to shit, he wasn’t even awake. He thinks he’d have been selfish and run at the first sign of the growing tensions if he had been. He’d barely been around those last few months, growing more and more bored with staying in one place for so long by the minute. He’d stayed out of obligation and for his friends. He doesn’t have either of those things anymore. He doesn’t even have the choice to leave anymore.</p><p>When Schlatt had locked him in here, he’d been shocked. He wasn’t afraid to admit that. The world had stopped turning, the destruction had reverted, and everyone around him had disappeared. Just Connor, and the city, and the barrier that healed and solidified with him inside. He’d thought it was a joke at first- another cuck shed situation on a larger scale, some… strange, dark prank pulled by Schlatt. Surely he hadn’t grown horns overnight like he was enacting some sick religious metaphor, surely he hadn’t taken the only thing Connor had thought was worth staying for from him, surely he was still his friend.</p><p>About 10 days in he got tired of being in denial. </p><p>He tried being angry after that, banging at the barrier and screaming to the skies like they were listening. Like anyone was listening. Then he was tired of being angry, so he tried to beg for freedom. After a while he was tired of begging, so he tried just being sad. Being sad lost its luster a long time ago. </p><p>He guesses that now he's just tired. </p><p>He takes off his gloves preemptively as the day hits noon and the temperature spikes slightly to 82 degrees. He shoves them in his overalls pocket and sits at the small pond under the spawn tree. He fishes in silence. Nothing bites, and the tide doesn’t change. It’s constantly high tide, the water always just barely lapping at his feet. That's about all he can do nowadays. Sometimes he gets company. The only change to his monotonous schedule, and it's entirely unwelcome. Usually he just ignores the company. Today is not one of those days. </p><p>A man sits besides him and clears his throat. Connor continues to loop bait onto the fishing hook and doesn't look up. The man clears his throat louder, and a slight breeze passes by. The next breeze wasn't supposed to hit until 12:56 pm, so clearly the situation is serious. He lifts his head up from the fishing hook and stares out at the water. He refuses to turn his head. </p><p>"What do you want, Schlatt?" he asks, setting down the rod and leaning back. He's already tired of this conversation.</p><p>"I found Wilbur," Schlatt says, and Connor nods. “He’s stopped trying to run. About time.” He had assumed the day would come.</p><p>"Did you kill him, or do I have company now?" Connor asks, wishing he felt more than resignation. Another breeze blows past and Connor knows he’s said something wrong. Some foreign feeling begins to bubble in his chest. He smiles slightly, the unfamiliar motion making his cheeks ache. "Or... is he escaping your dastardly grasp again, God King jschlatt?” Thunder rumbles in the distance. That’s nice, he thinks. He missed the rain. </p><p>Schlatt grumbles from beside him. He pretends to ignore Connor’s mirth. “It’s… proving more difficult than I had thought it’d be. Just give it time.” He chokes out the admission through gritted teeth. Connor laughs. It’s a foreign sound. </p><p>“What a shame,” Connor says sardonically, grabbing his fishing rod and casting the line. “If only I cared about your struggle to make another person miserable. I’d tell you to bother someone else about it, but, well.” He gestures around himself at the empty city, letting the silence speak for him.</p><p>“It’s funny,” Connor lies, continuing over whatever Schlatt’s next statement will be. “How you won’t let any of this end.” He looks up at the same sky, same clouds, same sun that he’s looked at every day for 207 days. The line goes tense. He pauses to reel it back in, relishing in the fact that he can finally speak his mind to someone.</p><p>Another salmon. Who would’ve thought. </p><p>“How you won’t let me end.” He looks down at the same hands, the same scars, the same nails that he’s looked at every day for 207 days. His humor fades and the same empty boredom creeps back in. “I just want to grow up, Schlatt. I just want to leave. Isn’t your whole brand destruction? Why can’t you let this world go to waste too?”</p><p>Schlatt tenses next to him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then he looks at Connor. “Do you want to leave me too? Like everyone else?” Connor laughs again, rolling his eyes. </p><p>“You really don’t get it, do you? I think, before all of this… I would’ve said no. But now?” he hums, an off key jazzy tune that once held more meaning than some sort of sick joke. “I don’t know. I think… I just want to talk to Ludwig again. Or Poki, or Miz, or Carson, or shit, I don’t know. Maybe I want to talk to Schlatt again some time too.”</p><p>The man next to him scoffs, offended. “I’m right here, Connor! C’mon, man, I’m-“ Connor stands, grabbing his fishing pole in one fluid motion. The stranger stops speaking, surprised into silence.</p><p>“I’m tired, Schlatt. I miss my friends. Let me know if any of them ever show up around here one day- God knows I haven’t seen any of them in a while.”</p><p>A breeze brushes his hair out of his face. It must be 12:56 pm. He walks away from where Schlatt’s seated, staring at his back as he leaves. Strangely enough, he feels like it’s not the only set of eyes watching him. </p><p>He feels like the tides are finally changing. A genuine smile sneaks it’s way onto his face. Maybe he shouldn’t give up hope just yet.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>title from be nice to me- the front bottoms</p><p>this is the first interlude!! any interlude will be from the "b side" of the story, which will provide more context for the main plot hopefully :D you'll see, dw</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. when you’re surrounded by it, it’s hard to forget</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wilbur didn’t really think this whole “returning to his roots” thing through. </p><p>“Now I can’t sleep from all these flashbacks<br/>Caravans and guys in bands and polystyrene hands<br/>Everything I had I seem to have lost<br/>Everyone who loved me seems to have forgot”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The drug dealing would be going great if they had any supplies. The van they’d fixed up looks barely suspicious parked in the middle of nowhere, and his newest partner in crime certainly has the spirit. The only issue is that the lack of brewing stands or, well. Drugs at all, really, is a bit of a roadblock. He supposes he could go and grind for supplies, but he’s really not the type of person to work for what he needs. And he means that in the nicest way possible! It’s just that he’d much rather steal a few brewing stands than risk his life in hell for a blaze rod. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy,” he asks, knocking on the wall of the van with his knuckles. “How’d you like to do some more crime?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid’s head pops out from the back room, where he’d been faking sorting materials for the past hour. He closes his communicator and tries to subtly shove it in his back pocket. “Would I? Wilbur, please. Right now, I’m willing to do so much crime.” He gestures at himself, as if that’s supposed to mean something. Wilbur blinks and remembers a similar interaction, Tommy unknowingly repeating his own words back to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That… that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard,” Wilbur smiles, thinking back to his potion based crimes of the past. “We need more brewing stands before we can do anything. Everyone else on this server definitely has some- yeah? Why go to the waste of collecting supplies when we can just… buy them back from other people for the low, low price of absolutely free?” He opens the door to the van and gestures for Tommy to exit. The boy hops out and Wilbur closes the door behind him. He begins to walk back towards the populated area of Dream SMP. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not a difficult task. Tubbo’s a nice kid, but he’s incredibly easy to convince. Or at the very least, he’s willing to play along. Tommy pockets every potion he’s got while Wilbur grabs him and Sapnap by the shoulders, explaining in detail the awful, awful digestive issues the blaze rods in the brewing stands could bring. Sapnap scoffs, shrugging off Wilbur’s arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve gotta be kidding, right! This is just a robbery!” He shouts, gesturing to the side where Tommy freezes, hands stained a shiny orange and holding a backpack filled to the brim with bottles of random substances and blaze powder. Wilbur laughs nervously, eyes shifting from side to side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, no… no! No, of course- Sapnap, look at me, man!” Tommy says, dropping the backpack and shoving his glittering hands into his pockets. “You know me, Sapnap, c’mon, I’d uh. I’d never steal anything!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap raises an eyebrow, looking down at the bag full of potion ingredients and back up at Tommy. “Yeah, no, I’m gonna need to confiscate that, buddy. C’mon Tubbo, help me grab these guys.” Tubbo looks over at Sapnap and shrugs, pulling out a sword. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean... no offense Tommy, but I really would like my shit back.” Tubbo says, sounding far too nonchalant for someone who was just forced to watch his friend rob him. Tommy groans and goes to whine at Tubbo for not immediately siding with him when Sapnap charges forwards unexpectedly, axe in hand. Tommy yelps and swipes up the bag again, stumbling away into a sprint. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit!” The boy exclaims, dodging a swing and running past Wilbur who turns just as abruptly and runs after him, Sapnap on his trail and Tubbo right behind. “Run, Wilbur!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sprint through the woods back into the van, weaving between trees. Wilbur slams the door behind him, gasping for air. “I think…” he groans, watching as Tommy throws the bag onto the counter with a pained huff. “I think we lost them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy nods, wiping the sweat from his brow. His dirty hands leave a glimmering orange streak across his forehead, and Wilbur laughs. Tommy joins in confusedly, not realizing why Wilbur’s laughing in the first place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit!” the kid says gleefully, leaning back onto the counter with a grin. “We actually di-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A knock at the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sapnap…” he hears Tubbo mutter from outside of the van. “Are you sure about this? That was… it was funny! I mean, we were just chasing as a joke, they’re not really doing anything wrong, yeah?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo!” Sapnap shouts, “They stole from you! They’re literally trying to sell drugs- look through the windows! You can’t expe-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How does that warrant this? Sapnap, you’re being ridiculous! There’s no rules against it, right?” Tubbo pleaded. Wilbur peaked his head out from where he was crouched, watching as Tubbo tugged at Sapnap’s sleeve, trying to pull him away from the van. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap whips around causing Tubbo to stumble backwards, catching himself at the last moment. “Maybe there should be, if they’re just going to steal shit and disrupt the peace.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur watches him storm off in a huff, Tubbo staring at his back with an unreadable expression. The kid shakes his head, and then walks up to the van door. He knocks again, this one far less aggressive. “Tommy, come out, it’s just me!” Wilbur looks over to Tommy, who’s already standing to get the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy!” Wilbur hisses, hunkering back under the counter. Tommy sighs and shrugs, rolling his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’mon big guy, it’s just Tubbo.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without asking for further permission, Tommy opens the door, ushering the older boy inside. Wilbur sighs, forcibly pushing down the rising anger in him before it threatens to drown him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Tommy!” Tubbo says, a sheepish grin on his face. “Uh… I think Sapnap was actually… serious about all of that. Kinda stupid, if you ask me. I mean- that’s definitely not the most illegal thing that’s been done on this server! Have you seen the crafting ta-” Before Wilbur can ask, Tommy laughs nervously, talking over his friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh-kay then! I’m just going to ignore that, actually. Tubbo, if you were joking, why the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> were you chasing me with a sword?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I just thought that’d be funny too.” Tubbo smiles, and he looks so genuine it startles a laugh out of Wilbur. “Wait, wait- actually, I uh. Came here to help, really. Look, I brought some stuff you might’ve missed. Sorry again about Sapnap. I’m sure he’ll come around. But in the meantime-” Tubbo opens his backpack and dumps it’s contents to the floor. Blaze rods go everywhere, and Wilbur watches in awe as the boy continues to shake more and more out of various nooks and crannies in the bag.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck?!” Wilbur and Tommy shout simultaneously, a mix of horror and impressed glee running through Wilbur as the orange rods pile up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo grins a knowing smile. “I know a thing or two about potions myself. No time to waste then, yeah?” Wilbur shares a glance with Tommy and then shrugs. There’s some work to do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They don’t work for long, in all honesty. At some point Tubbo spills an awkward potion, half formed and abnormally slimy, all over Tommy’s shirt and it’s downhill from there. The hotheaded boy starts shouting, tossing his own potion all over Tubbo, who screeches and laughs in response. In no time at all, Wilbur’s pressed against the wall laughing his ass off as the two kids in front of him squabble, tossing precious materials back and forth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s so nostalgic that it hurts. Just a bunch of kids laughing and having fun, fucking with each other for no reason other than the chaos of it all. And Wilbur, watching it all happen. Once, he was one of those kids, he thinks. Somewhere along the line he’s gotten far too old for it all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time, there’s no knock, no warning. Glass shatters and the window breaks inwards. The mood shifts instantly, A flaming arrow flies into the caravan and Wilbur instinctively leaps to the ground away from it. Tommy screams and stomps the flame out while Tubbo runs towards the window to investigate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur…” Tubbo says, fear flashing across his face. “I think someone’s here…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No shit!” Wilbur shouts, scrambling upwards. The door to the caravan flies open. Three figures stand in the doorway. “Fucking hell, why can’t you just knock!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream clears his throat. It’s pretentious, and it’s mocking. Wilbur’s first conversation with the guy, and he wants to punch the smug plastic grin off of his face. “Wilbur Soot. A pleasure to meet you. Y’know, when I let you through the whitelist, people told me you were a force to be reckoned with. Not some… scum of the earth drug dealer.” Dream sneers behind the mask, and Wilbur watches Sapnap and George snicker behind him like they’re a group of high school bullies.</span>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clearly you’ve been talking to the wrong people. The pleasure’s all mine,” Wilbur lies, brushing off his coat in an attempt to look more put together than he feels. “What brings you here, Dream?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not much, not much.” Dream strides through the doorway, dragging a finger along the countertops in the room. Tommy and Tubbo watch in silent horror, pinning themselves against the wall as he saunters past carelessly. “Did hear you were breaking server rules though, Wilbur. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” The man pointedly stares at the lapel of Wilbur’s coat, where there’s still glowing orange residue stained to the black fabric. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? No, there’s nowhere in the rules that says we can’t make drugs. I checked, Dream!” Not that he’d have listened if there was a rule against it, Wilbur tacks on internally. Based on Dream’s smug stance, he’s pretty sure the admin knows exactly what he’s thinking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream smiles, the curve of his bottom lip barely visible behind the blank stare of his shitty plastic mask. “My server, my rules. Things change. If you don’t like it, run your own. There’s no… drug dealing, no empires, no resistances allowed here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur snarls. Ah, so that’s what happened. How fucking stupid. “Oh, so Sapnap ran and got daddy then, did he? What- too much of a fucking pussy to face his problems head on?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey-!” Sapnap cries, even as Tommy bursts into nervous laughter. Dream sighs and nods. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. Either way, I’m shutting this operation down. No further questions.” Before Wilbur can dispute, Dream stalks out with a dramatic turn, Sapnap and George trailing behind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur rolls his eyes and slams the door behind them. “And don’t come back!” He stalks back into the back room, fuming. He sits with a thud on the floor, angrily picking at the splintered wood planks beneath him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So much for harmless chaos.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>title from hikikomori - crywank</p><p>WOOOO IM BACK. I RISE FROM THE DEAD EVEN THOUGH I HAVE. SO MUCH WORK TO DO FOR CLASSES LOL OH WELL. this chapter certainly isnt my favorite but things are going to be picking up soon, so i’d rather get this out there than nitpick for another three weeks &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>finally getting to the actual story :D i recommend you read all the previous works in this series as well- even though it's non-linear! it'll give you a little bit of backstory. </p><p>all chapters in this work are titled after Crywank lyrics, including the title of the fic itself :) the title is from a very good crywank song :) they're a great band and they sing a lot about existentialism and feeling alone/sad and the like which is very important for this au :D check 'em out if you haven't already.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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